


Momentary Distraction

by sovvannight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s03e24 The Divine Move, F/M, Ghosts, Season/Series 03, Smut, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sovvannight/pseuds/sovvannight
Summary: After the events of The Divine Move, Lydia doesn't want to be alone, and doesn't think Stiles should be alone, either.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Momentary Distraction

Lydia whirled away from the sight of Ethan cradling Aiden’s body to throw herself at Stiles and bury her face against his shoulder. Piled on top of the horrors of the past few weeks, his death, and his twin’s pain, was just too much to bear.

“Oh, god,” Stiles breathed out. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her face into his shoulder. All around them their friends were rushing around, fragments of a half-dozen conversations drifting on the air, but she and Stiles just stood there clinging to each other.

“It’s too much,” she said, and Stiles’s body jerked as if she’d slapped him. He took a half step back, but she tightened her grip before he could leave. “Not you. Do _not_ blame yourself. This is not your fault.”

He sighed. “Isn’t it?” 

She stepped forward to hug him again, and after a moment he hugged her back.

“Stiles? Lydia?” She lifted her head to watch Scott trudge toward them. She reached out with one hand, thinking he looked like he needed a hug, too, but he stopped just outside of arm’s reach as if he couldn’t allow himself any comfort. “We- we decided that we’re just going to have Derek call the police, and he and Ethan will talk to them. It’ll just be another stabbing by the guy with the robes and the sword, and it’s better if it seems random rather than the same people involved each time. So, we should go.”

“Oh. OK.” Lydia slowly released her death grip on Stile’s shirt, but immediately grabbed his hand. She glanced once more in the direction of the underpass, but Argent caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She turned away and followed Scott and Kira back to the Jeep.

Stiles dropped Kira off at her house and then drove Scott to the hospital, where his mother was recovering from a sword wound, according to the texts he’d gotten from her and his father. Waiting for a break in traffic so that he could turn out of the hospital parking lot, Stiles flipped on his left turn signal to head toward Lydia’s house.

“I don’t want to go home,” Lydia blurted out. “I…I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t think you should be alone, either. Your dad’s going to be caught up with—” Her lungs seized up and she couldn’t continue.

“With Aiden,” Stiles said. He nodded and flipped the turn signal to the right, pulling out onto Oakwood and heading toward his home without another word.

Lydia stared blankly out the car window, too caught up in her whirling thoughts to register the sights. Allison was dead. She’d never get to talk to her best friend again. They’d never go on another double date, or go shopping, or talk about their futures. And her supernatural ability completely failed her—she knew exactly what would happen, but somehow still couldn’t stop it, still couldn’t save her best friend.

Was this how it was going to be for the rest of her life, being forced over and over to watch visions of horrors come to life, affecting her friends and family? But no, because there was Aiden: proof that sometimes she would be as blind to impending death as everyone around her. She laughed bitterly, because what kind of choice was that?

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asked.

She glanced at him, but he was keeping his eyes on the road. “Just- just that I seem to have a choice between being able to see the future but not being able to do anything to change it, and being just as surprised as everyone else when something terrible happens, and I’m not sure which is worse.”

“I think we’ll listen to you, in the future. Maybe. But then again, we couldn’t have left you with the Nogitsune. We just couldn’t. So I don’t know.”

“I- I just don’t know how we go on from this. I don’t know if I can live with the guilt.”

“We’ll go on because we have to. Her death means nothing if we don’t go on to do something good with our lives. That’s what we have to figure out. But not until tomorrow. For now, we just need to rest. God, I’m just so tired.”

She watched him as he turned the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly she could see the effort it was taking him. “Are you feeling better? You look a little better. More like yourself.”

“Well, I stopped feeling like I was slowly bleeding out once Scott bit the Nogitsune. The cut the Nogitsune made on my- its stomach, it’s scarred over and mostly healed. I think I’m just short on food and rest. Which, you must be, too. When we get home, do you want me to make you something to eat?”

Her stomach cramped at his words, and she shook her head while fighting a sudden surge of nausea. After a few deep breaths, she said, “No food for now—I don’t think I can eat. I just want to go to sleep. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of longing for plaid sheets and a down comforter in my life. I don’t even care if you have a spare pillow.”

He inhaled loudly, making her turn to look at him fully. “Were…were you planning on sleeping _with_ me?” he said slowly.

“Didn’t I say I didn’t think you should be alone? You in your room and me in a guest room somewhere down the hall means you’re alone. I want to be close in case one of us has nightmares. I wasn’t planning on relieving you of your virginity—I’m really not up for that tonight.”

His lips twitched into a smile. “You mean you’d be up for it some other night?” When she huffed in annoyance, he said, “You’re too late, anyway. It’s been an eventful couple of weeks. Geez, I haven’t even thought about her—I should probably check on her or something. Kinda rude, having sex and then immediately getting possessed and leaving without a word, right?”

“You have sex with someone at Eichen House? That’s…creepy.” And was that jealousy she was feeling? Seriously?

Stiles shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, between the drugs and the sleep deprivation and the possession and the whole dementia thing I probably wasn’t in the best frame of mind for decisionmaking.”

“Oh, god—did anyone tell you the MRI was a trick? You’re not dying, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I heard. My mother’s scans. Pretty low blow.” Headlights from a car on the other side of the road briefly illuminated his face, and he looked like he was suppressing tears. “It wasn’t even that, really, I wasn’t thinking, ‘Oh, I should try this before I die.’ It was just, she was _there_ , and she leaned in for a kiss, and…and then she took her top off, and it was just such a relief to be distracted from everything for a few moments.”

Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled out of her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that, that’s been me with every hookup I’ve had in the past 6 months. So no judgment here.”

He made another right turn, and she saw that they’d finally reached his street. “And, we’re home. I guess that’s another problem for the future. I wonder what the official Eichen House policy is on patients walking out without permission. I wonder if I’d be in trouble if I went back to visit Malia.”

“It was Malia? The werecoyote?”

“Now you’re getting judgy?” He pulled into his driveway and turned off the ignition.

As they got out of the jeep, she replied, “Of course not. She’s very…tall. And pretty. But she’s not in Eichen House—I was there when she brought Scott the sword a few days ago.”

“Huh. That’s good, I guess. She didn’t really belong there.” His keys rattled in the dark, and then the door was open and Stiles flicked on an overhead light. He held out a hand behind him without looking, and she took it, allowing him to lead her up the stairs and to his room. He paused on the threshold, looking around as if the room was suddenly unfamiliar, before walking over to the chest of drawers and rummaging through one of the drawers. “Uh, here.” He held out a bundle of red cloth. “Something to sleep in.” 

He stood up abruptly. “Wait, I just remembered—” She followed him back into the hall and watched as he pulled open one of the doors further down the hall, revealing a disorganized linen closet. He looked through a few bags and boxes, finally emerging and handing her a thin box. “A spare toothbrush. That’s all you really need, right?”

“Sure,” she said easily, shrugging off her normal nightly skincare regimen. Because really, maintaining her perfect complexion just didn’t make it onto the priority list right now. She took the toothbrush from him and walked down the hall to the bathroom, looking back one more time before stepping in and shutting the door behind her. 

She changed into the oversized t-shirt and brushed her teeth with the toothbrush he’d given her, then washed her face and borrowed some lotion out of his medicine cabinet for her face. Checking her reflection for the first time, she winced at her pallor and the bags under her eyes—good thing she hadn’t been planning on making a move because she wasn’t exactly looking her sexiest.

When she returned to his bedroom, Stiles was tidying up the clutter on his desk. He glanced at her and then looked away, blushing slightly, and Lydia fought the urge to tug at the hem of his shirt. “That’s your side.” He pointed to the far side of the bed, where he’d turned down the comforter.

“I have a side?”

“Uh, you do now?” His eyes narrowed as he took a few steps closer to her. “What’s this?” His hand hovered over her arm just below the edge of the short sleeve, and crap, she’d forgotten.

“It’s nothing.”

He didn’t say anything, just tugged her gently by the hand over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and held out her right arm from her body toward the light. She knew exactly what he was looking at: four round, yellow and brown bruises from the Nogitsune’s fingers gripping her as it dragged her out of the McCalls’ living room, bruises she’d previously hidden with elbow-length sleeves.

“Oh, Lydia,” he murmured. He held his splayed fingers over her arm, and of course his hand fit perfectly since an identical hand had made those bruises.

“Stiles…” Before she could say anything more, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the tender skin of her inner arm.

Which, wow, she’d never thought of as an erogenous zone, but the light butterfly kisses he placed over each bruise were really, really working for her. Not to mention the way his cheek was an inch away from brushing against her chest, and she could imagine how it would feel for him to kiss her there. 

When he looked up, his blown pupils told her he was affected by their closeness, too. “Where else? Where else are you hurt?” he asked.

Lydia remembered what he’d said about Malia: _and then she took her top off, and it was just such a relief to be distracted from everything_. She spun around so that she was facing away from him, pulled the t-shirt over her head and dropped it onto the carpet, and flipped her hair over one shoulder to expose her back.

He gasped, and she hoped that only part of his reaction was because of the bruise on her back from where the Nogitsune had pushed her up against a gate and she’d hit the padlock. She hoped that he was also reacting to her bralessness, and the pale blue lace underwear she was wearing.

His hands grasped her waist lightly and then he kissed around the bruise. It was darker than the fingertip bruises on her arm, she knew, but he was so gentle that she felt no pain from his touch.

“You…you could move your hands a little higher,” she said breathlessly. Normally she’d be more demanding, but she felt off-balance, and ridiculously unsure of herself.

The lips pressed against her back shifted as he smiled, and then his hands slid upward a few inches, resting on her ribs. “Like this?” he asked.

She huffed out a laugh. “Maybe a little higher?” But really, she was touched and more than a little impressed that he could read her well enough to keep things light between them. A few more inches upward and he just barely brushed against the undersides of her breasts with his index fingers, but she still gasped and shuddered as if it was a much more consequential touch. 

He relented then, cupping her breasts fully, stroking his thumbs across her nipples, and damn if her knees didn’t actually get a little weak for a moment. She gripped his forearms to steady herself as her eyes started drifting shut, but they snapped open again as her gaze drifted over the open bedroom door. “Um, let me just—” She squeezed his wrists once before walking over to the door and shutting it firmly. She sometimes enjoyed the thrill of having sex at school where anyone might walk in, but at that moment she wanted privacy.

And maybe a moment to think about what she was doing? Or perhaps…not. She lifted her hair back behind her shoulders and turned around, feeling a thrill of triumph when his eyes drifted down her body and he gasped. She felt like a goddess as she swayed toward him and watched him struggle to keep his eyes on her face. Stopping inches from where he still sat on the edge of the bed, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“What are we doing?” he asked abruptly, and she flinched away.

“Well, gee, _I_ was trying to have an orgasm. What were _you_ doing?”

“Lydia—”

“It’s like you said, a moment of relief. I- I just need someone to touch me. I need to turn off my brain. I need—” She cut herself off. She wasn't going to beg, for god’s sake, she thought as she wrapped her arms around herself.

He stood up and hugged her, resting his cheek against her hair. “If you just need to be held, we can just _do_ that. You don’t have to- I’m not going to demand—” He floundered, and she tried to lighten the mood.

“Sounds nice, but I kinda want that orgasm, too.”

He laughed, just as she’d intended. But then he whispered into her ear, “Just one orgasm? I think I can do better than that,” and she pulled back to look at him, wide-eyed in shock. He smirked at her for a moment, then sobered. “I get it. I need, well, I need a tether again. I need to feel real.” They looked away at the same time, neither of them ready to have any sort of conversation about emotional tethers or what that meant for them. “And I need to set all these thoughts aside. I don’t think I can sleep like this with my mind going in 20 different directions, no matter how tired I am.”

OK, great, so they were both pursuing this for completely messed up reasons. His fingers flexed against her back in a tentative caress. She saw the uncertainty warring with desire in his eyes and made a decision. “Take off your shirt and lie down.”

He pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it toward where he’d already dropped the plaid shirt he’d been wearing over it earlier. “Just the shirt?”

“Keep your pants on for now,” she purred, feeling in control again.

Stiles dragged the comforter and top sheet down and laid down on that side. She walked around the bed to climb in on her side, then crawled across so that she was kneeling next to him. 

He looked up at her but didn’t make a move to touch her. “What next? Because you seem to have some kind of plan in mind.”

“Well, I liked it when you kissed my bruises, so I thought I would return the favor.” She rested a hand on his abdomen and felt the muscles contract underneath her palm. He was too thin, she thought, and too pale, although he already looked better than he had when he’d fainted earlier.

He sucked in a deep breath as she bent down and placed a light kiss on the near end of the thin white scar that extended across his stomach. He made a little sound with each kiss that she placed in a line across his waist, not quite a moan but louder than a gasp.

She placed her hand over his, which was gripping the edge of the mattress tightly. “You can touch me, you know. I like it when you touch me.” 

One hand came to rest on her head and then slowly thread through her hair as she continued her line of kisses across his abdomen. When she looked up to check, his face was flushed and his breathing had sped up, but she could see it in his eyes, he was still thinking too much. She gave his scar a final lick, then watched his face as she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. She gripped his pants on either side of his hips and pulled them and his underwear down, and Stiles lifted his hips to help.

He sat up and reached for her, but she pushed him back down. “Not yet,” she said. She brushed his cock lightly with one finger, from base to tip, repeating the movement slowly so she could enjoy the sounds he was making. When she followed the path her fingers had taken with her tongue, his gasps turned to groans, and when she took the head of his cock inside her mouth she finally felt him lose control, hands twisted in her hair, muscles tight, babbling a string of ‘oh my gods’ interspersed with curses and compliments.

“Lydia, wait, I’m going to—” He cut himself off on a groan as she took him deeper. She employed every trick she’d ever learned with her hands, mouth, and tongue, because that was exactly what she wanted. And when he came she swallowed every drop, and then she wrapped her arms around him and held him until he caught his breath.

“Hey, come up here and kiss me. I can’t believe I haven’t kissed you yet tonight.”

Lydia flinched, remembering Jackson pushing her away under similar circumstances. She lifted her head up from where she’d been resting against his stomach to look at him incredulously. “You want to kiss me? Now?”

“Yeah? What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, it’s just, most guys wouldn’t want, I mean—”

“What? I don’t get it.”

She sighed and pressed her face against his stomach again. “Most guys would be a little grossed out, based on where my mouth was a few minutes ago, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment as he ran his fingertips up and down the arm she’d wrapped around him. “OK, then.” He lifted that arm and pushed her over so that she was on her back with her hand pinned to the bed over her head, and she was struck by a spurt of—was it fear, shame, arousal? All three? 

His lips curled into a too-innocent smile. “So, I just have to make my mouth be equally dirty. Fair’s fair, right?”

“Sure,” she gasped out. “Fairness. That’s important.” 

He laughed, then sobered. “You’re so gorgeous, Lydia. I haven’t told you that tonight, either.”

She remembered what she looked like in the mirror earlier, but his expression was completely sincere. He released the hand he’d pinned to the bed and sat up, mirroring the way she’d knelt next to him earlier.

And then he started touching her. Gently, gently, with just his fingertips, running them over her skin. And that was a turn-on, yeah, but watching his face was just as much of one—the affection and curiosity in his eyes, and the way he was obviously filing away every gasp and moan, compiling a list of things she liked. 

The care he was taking made her feel cherished, but a niggling thought in the back of her mind told her that she didn’t deserve it. She needed something faster, something harder, to fully distract her.

“Stiles,” she said, and she’d meant it to sound like a demand, but to her own ears it sounded more like a plea. She pushed the hand resting on her stomach down to the waistband of her underwear.

He made a humming sound as he ran his fingers across the skin right above the waistband. She opened her mouth to protest, but instead gasped as he repeated the motion with his tongue. He placed a kiss on the side of her waist and then tugged her underwear down with his teeth, pulling the other side down in tandem. Once they were down past her knees, she kicked them off the rest of the way and onto the floor.

“So gorgeous.” He licked his lips, and she thought she might die from anticipation. “So, let’s see…do you like this?” He slid his thumb between her folds and pressed down on her clit, hard. She moaned, but that wasn’t enough of a response for him, apparently. “Well, Lydia?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered out.

“What about this?” He moved his thumb in a slow circle around her clit.

“Oh god, that’s good,” she moaned. He sped up the circles, and she cried out as she arched up against his hand.

“Too much?” he asked, and oh, she loved when his voice deepened into that gravelly rasp.

“Never,” she breathed out, and was gratified to see a grin flash across his face.

He sobered, but still had a roguish gleam in his eye. “Part your legs for me, Lydia.”

She complied immediately, even as a small part of her mind was appalled at herself, as she was not usually one to take orders in bed. _I just want to be distracted; anything for an orgasm_ , she told herself as he crawled over to kneel between her legs and then settled into place.

He kissed her inner thigh, then looked up to meet her eyes once before tilting his head back down to lick her tentatively. “Salty,” he muttered, and she laughed, cutting herself off to gasp and he licked her again, more firmly this time.

Sixty seconds in and she was gripping his hair with one hand while keeping the other slapped over her mouth to muffle the loud groans she couldn’t help making. Stiles was clearly not experienced at this, but that meant that he wasn’t settling into a pattern she could anticipate—and not knowing what he would do next was keeping her attention laser-focused on his every move. He switched to flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue, and she felt him shifting around before she felt fingertips sliding around her entrance. She parted her legs further and moaned, ‘Yes!’ as he slowly sank two fingers inside.

He lifted his head, and she was about to protest when he said, “So I finally understand why people make amateur porn. Because it’s kind of killing me not to be able to see your face. I hear the sounds you’re making, I feel your muscles tensing, I feel how wet you’re getting, but it’s not enough.”

The fact that he was so obviously turned on while doing what most of her past partners just considered a chore made her melt. “C’mere,” she said, letting go of his hair to tug at his shoulder. 

He scrambled up the bed and hovered over her until she pulled him down for a kiss, and it was even better than she remembered from their first kiss, with him as a full participant rather than someone suffering through a panic attack. And the hand that he wasn’t using to prop himself up was wandering, cupping one breast, caressing the faint scars on her abdomen from Peter’s attack, sliding around to cup her ass and pull her closer. Her pelvis brushed against his cock; she could tell that he was hard again, and suddenly all she could think about is how good it would feel to have him inside her.

She pushed him over onto his back and followed, not breaking contact with his lips, until he was lying on his back and she was sprawled half on top of him. Breaking off the kiss, she asked, “Do you have a condom?” anticipating disappointment because why would he?

“Yeah, actually, I…it’s…” He fumbled a hand toward his nightstand, pulling the shallow top drawer partially open. 

Lydia sat up, straddling his thighs as she took over sorting through the drawer, eventually locating a familiarly-shaped packet. “XXL?” She smirked at him as he squirmed underneath her.

“I didn’t pick it out. I, uh, borrowed it. I was at a party…not important. Do you think it will work?”

She ripped the packet open and slowly, carefully rolled the condom down over him. “Looks good to me.” She smiled at the look on his face—half disbelieving that this was happening, even now, and just as desperate as she felt. She bent over to kiss him one more time as she shifted into position, and then she sat up, sweeping her hair back behind her ears, since he wanted to see her face and she felt ridiculously flattered by that request. She guided him into position and sank down onto him a few inches at a time until he was as deep as she could take him in that position.

He sighed, “God,” as he looked up at her.

“Wouldn’t that be goddess?” she said pertly.

“Damn straight.” He ran his hands up and down her thighs in a light caress. “You planning on moving anytime soon? I mean, this feels great, but—” He cut off as she slowly rose most of the way off of him and then sank down again. 

She’d momentarily lost all sense of urgency and kept that slow pace, rising and falling while she kept her eyes glued to his face. His face…it wasn’t smug the way she’d half expected it to be—after all, he’d claimed he was in love with her last year, and now he’d gotten what he wanted. He looked so serious, like he was trying to commit every moment to memory, and she fought against the realization that she was doing the same, that apparently neither of them thought this was the start of anything more permanent. But was that even something she wanted?

Lydia sped up to distract herself from her circling thoughts. She shut her eyes as she arched her back, only to open them in surprise when she felt a fingertip brush over her clit. Ah, he’d discovered the other advantage of this position, at least for her. “Don’t stop,” she ordered, and now a cocky grin flashed across his face, but she hardly cared because he did as he was told, caressing her in time to their movements.

She could feel her orgasm building, so she took the opportunity to touch him while she could, knowing she’d soon be completely focused on chasing that feeling. Her hands wandered across his chest, sliding over pecs that were more developed than she would’ve thought, over ribs that were too visible, wringing a surprised gasp from him as she caressed his nipples. But she eventually had to stop touching him to brace her hands on either side of his head for maximum leverage as she sped up further in an effort to reach the climax she wanted so badly.

And then he rolled his fingers around her nipple with one hand while the other performed the same action on her clit, and she came, moaning as she shuddered above him. She rode it out, chasing every last sensation until she collapsed forward, breathing heavily.

She came back to awareness slowly, feeling his hands brushing over her back in a soothing pattern, his exhalations against her neck, his cock—

Lydia sat up abruptly. “You’re still hard.”

He licked his lips. “I- I promised you multiple orgasms.”

“So you’re just…willing yourself not to come? Or maybe you’re just not that into it.” She suddenly felt like crying, and part of her was perfectly aware that it wasn’t because the sex apparently wasn’t as mind-blowing for him as it was for her, or at least that wasn’t the only reason.

He opened his mouth, then shut it on a frown. “Not into it. Not into it? Are you frickin’ serious?” He used one hand to push himself up so that he was sitting upright, while the other supported her back as his movement jostled her. 

He wasn’t as deep in this position, but his face was right _there_ , inches from her own, honey-colored eyes lit up by the morning sunlight shining through the blinds. Both hands came up to cradle her face. “Not into it. You’re ridiculous.” He kissed her then, and she was relieved to feel his neediness and desperation. They stayed like that, clinging to each other as they kissed, until Lydia made a frustrated sound when she tried to bear down on his cock but couldn’t get the depth she wanted from the position she was in. 

“Yeah, that’s- What if we…Lydia, hold on to me.” He rose up onto his knees, supporting her as she tipped backward until she landed on her back, her head near the foot of his bed. He settled on top of her, supporting his upper body with his forearms but pressing his torso against hers. “Is this OK? Your back, the bruise, does the pressure bother it?”

“Mmm, no, that’s good. I want—” She squirmed underneath him in an attempt to bring their bodies into alignment. “—you,” she finished on a sigh as she felt the head of his cock brush against her clit.

“And I want you, too, I really, really do.” He shifted his hips until the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

“Then fuck me,” she said, without her usual flirtatiousness. He looked into her eyes as he snapped his hips forward. “Yes,” she hissed. “Just like that.”

“It’s not too hard?”

“Just. Like. That.” She bent her legs and planted her feet for maximum leverage, rising to meet him on his second thrust. 

His eyes widened. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“Don’t stop.”

“OK, OK. Yeah, that’s good.” His eyes opened, catching her gaze. “Is it really good for you, too?”

Lydia started laughing. “Oh my god, Stiles, will you stop talking and kiss me?” She ran a hand through his hair as she pulled his head down, and he obliged her, brushing her lips softly with his. And she loved it, loved the contrast of his sweet kisses and the borderline-rough movements of his hips. 

She fought the urge to dig her nails into his back as the pressure started to build, at the back of her mind thinking that he’d suffered enough, that she couldn’t bear to cause even the tiniest amount of pain. And that was her last coherent thought for a while, as she finally became fully occupied by _feeling_ rather than thinking. Their bodies sped up as they moved in tandem, and Stiles eventually had to stop kissing her because they were both breathing too hard.

The tension built and built, tremors flowing through her body. She cried out and moaned now without any thought of who might hear her, and she felt every moan of his stir the hair at her temple. His back was becoming slippery with sweat underneath her fingers, and it made it harder for her to gain purchase. She’d never been wound this tightly—she wasn’t sure she could take much more.

“Stiles.” She pulled his hair gently and he followed her lead to lift his head away from where he’d buried it against her hair. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Lydia,” he gasped out. He brushed fingertips across her cheek. “So beautiful. Fuck!” He arched back and sped up further, which she wouldn’t have thought was possible. She could feel herself sliding toward the end of the bed and reached behind her to grip the edge, which happened to naturally arch her back so that her chest rubbed against his.

His next thrust pushed her over the edge, and she screamed as the orgasm she’d been striving for burst through her body. And kept going, wave after wave as she shook with the force of it. 

She slowly surfaced from the haze to notice that Stiles had stopped moving and was lying heavier on top of her, panting into her ear.

“Lydia,” he whispered as he nudged her shoulder. “Lydia?” he repeated, a little louder.

“Mmm.” She even couldn’t be bothered to open her eyes, much less say anything, as she relaxed into the floaty sensation that enveloped her.

He lifted himself up a little, and she frowned at the loss of contact. “Did…did I just sex you into a coma?” He sounded so gleeful, she should really put him in his place, but…not right now. “Hey, you alright?” And now he sounded concerned.

She cracked one eye open, not wanting him to worry. “M’good. Relaxed.” Her eyes drifted shut again.

“So, basically, yes on the sex-coma?”

She pouted, but then her lips twitched into a smile without her intending them to.

“Do you want to get under the covers? You look like you don’t want to move, but you might sleep better with a pillow, and weren’t you excited earlier about my down comforter? I can help if you need to slide around.” The bed rocked as he shifted away from her, and she felt the tug of sheets and the comforter being untucked up near her feet.

“Ugh.” She rolled onto her side and opened her eyes, staring at the plaid comforter inches from her face until the lines came into focus. She could sleep right here, just like this, but he was right, she’d prefer to be snuggled underneath the warm comforter. 

She crawled up to “her” side as Stiles pulled his underwear back on and settled down on the other side. In the interest of cutting off further conversation so that they could sleep, she rolled over so that her head rested on his shoulder, one hand coming to rest over his heart once she’d twitched the comforter over them both. “G’night.”

“Good night, Lydia,” he replied, but it was like it was echoing from a far distance, and she was drifting away from him like a feather on a breeze.

Lydia woke up to a voice hissing her name. It was dark out, and she was sprawled on top of Stiles, who was sleeping on his back with his mouth hanging open slightly, looking decidedly human in the moonlight. She lifted herself off of him slowly, and he mumbled something as he rolled onto his side but didn’t wake. 

When she brushed the hair away from her face, she saw Allison and Aiden standing arm in arm in the middle of Stiles’s room. She pulled the comforter up to cover her nakedness as she wondered who let them in, and why they were here together because they weren’t exactly friends—but then it all came crashing back. “You’re dead,” she whispered. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, and now she could see the stab wounds they both bore.

“And you’re a banshee; you have an affinity for the dead,” Allison said. Her voice sounded slightly tinny, like it was a recording rather than someone talking in the same room.

Aiden snarled, “We’re dead, and it’s all your fault. You and your little boy toy, there. Way to go on that, by the way—I knew you liked him. But couldn’t you at least have waited until I’m buried?”

She hitched in a breath at that. “It’s not like that. I just needed—”

Allison scoffed. “Right. _You_ needed. It’s all about what you need, isn’t it?”

Aiden continued, “I mean, I always knew you were cold. But walking away from me as I’m lying there dying, then screwing some other guy an hour later? That’s stone cold.”

“And why aren’t you comforting Scott, and Isaac and my dad?” Allison cried. “They’re out there suffering, and you’re taking a nap!”

Lydia protested. “I was kidnapped. Stiles almost died.”

“And we _did_ die. Saving you.”

And now she was getting angry. “I left you a message not to come. I warned you! If you had just listened to me, it wouldn’t have played out like that.”

Aiden laughed bitterly. “Oh, Lydia, you know it doesn’t work that way. You just find the bodies. You can save anyone—you’re useless.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “I found Stiles!”

Allison sneered in a very un-Allisonlike fashion. “Great. So guys whose pants you want to get into are safe. What about the rest of us?”

“I don’t know! I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Try harder,” Allison advised, “before someone else gets killed. Maybe—” she glanced at Stiles pointedly— “focus on what’s important rather than just your selfish wants.”

“For a change,” Aiden added.

Lydia looked down at Stiles, who’d slept through the entire discussion. She felt a tug in the vicinity of her heart, as she had a few times before when she was around him, and as always, it scared her. But now she had new fears—what if something happened to him because of her, or what if something happened to somebody else because she got too wrapped up in him, as she knew she had a tendency to do with guys? Maybe ghost-Allison was right, and she was being selfish by even being there right now. Even if she wasn’t poison to the people around her, she didn’t deserve happiness or comfort.

“Lydia?” The voice was Stiles’s, sounding like it was coming from far away. A hand shook her shoulder and she blinked—and suddenly the room was light, and Stiles was watching her with a concerned expression. “You’re crying. Are you OK? Did you have a nightmare?”

She looked at the spot where Allison and Aiden had been standing, but they were gone. She was still clutching the comforter to her chest like she had in the dream, and she brought one corner up to wipe her cheeks. “I guess I did. I have to go.” She tossed aside the comforter and jumped out of bed, bustling around the room and throwing her clothes on unceremoniously.

“Are you sure? We were only asleep for…four hours,” he said as he checked his phone. 

“Yes. My mother is probably worried about me. And this- this was a mistake. Not—“ She swallowed, blinking back more tears. “It was nice, and all, but I think of you as a friend. I don’t want to make things complicated.”

“Right.” He nodded, but his expression was shuttered, and she supposed she’d hurt his feelings. But better his feelings were bruised now then he ends up dead later because of her. She was doing him a favor, really. He slid out of bed and grabbed last night’s pants from the floor. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Not necessary—I can just call my mom.”

“I’ll do it.” 

He was looking stubborn, and it would get her out of there sooner than if she had to wait for her mother to drive over, so she nodded. They walked downstairs and got into the car without speaking. 

Once the jeep was in gear, he asked if she wanted to stop for coffee or food, and after she said no they lapsed into silence again.

Lydia dug her nails into her palms to keep from crying, not wanting to trigger his caretaking instincts. Five more blocks and she’d be home. Four more…three more…she counted them down, focusing on the familiar landmarks of her neighborhood. 

Stiles pulled into the half-circle driveway in front of her house, and she was out of the jeep the moment he shut off the engine, digging through her purse for her house key. 

A car door slammed and then his footsteps shuffled on the porch stairs behind her as she unlocked her front door. 

She turned to see him watching her with narrowed eyes. “Lydia, are you alright? You’re not, uh, sensing more trouble or something, are you?”

“No, nothing like that.” She forced her expression into an attempt at a reassuring smile. “I just need to see my mom, get some sleep, and some space. Alone time. You know.” She stopped herself before she babbled further.

“Right. Alone time.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, if you need to talk, anytime, you can call me. We are friends, I mean, I consider us friends, too.”

“Thanks!” She smiled politely at him as she pushed the door in, walked through, and shut it behind herself.

Her mother rushed into the entryway from the living room and hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry about Allison, but I’m glad you’re OK. Come into the kitchen and I’ll make you something to eat. The police are done questioning you?”

Lydia allowed herself to be led away as she resolved to put Stiles and the last few hours out of her mind. She needed to focus on learning how to use her skills to help others. And maybe if she became a better person, she’d be worthy of happiness someday.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a fic where Lydia gets pregnant at the end of season 3, and Stiles eventually steps in to co-parent (coming in 2021?). This is NOT how it happens, but this is the story they tell people--a grief-fueled one-night-stand and a condom that failed. But I kept struggling to figure out how in the world I could make that be plausible. Specifically, whether I could imagine any set of circumstances where Stiles Stilinski actually has sex with Lydia Martin and then somehow lets her go and ends up with Malia for seasons 4-5a. I had to write it just to make sure it was feasible. So, this is meant to be canon-compliant, which means no happy ending for now, but 5b/6a and a happy ending awaits!


End file.
